


Not The Ending We Wanted, But The Ending We Deserved

by Pastache



Series: Thomas Barrow, A Biography: It's Only Funny When it Happens to Someone Else [3]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-02 10:30:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8664286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastache/pseuds/Pastache
Summary: AKA how Downton Abbey *should* have ended, for one Mr. Barrow





	1. My Shining Dishonesty Will Be The Salvation Of Me

**Author's Note:**

> TW for post-suicide mentions and recovery- with healing mental health issues. If this chapter feels over-indulgent in the kindness Thomas gets consider it payback for the absence of it on the show.

He had vague awareness- unconsolidated memories of _something_ pressed against his forehead repeatedly, and voices- maybe- saying his name, though he couldn’t quite hear it, stuck between consciousness and otherwise. The room spun for a moment and then there was pressure everywhere, his wrists hurt enough nearly to wake him, if only he didn’t feel so heavy. Another black period, and then there was movement... he was being manhandled, presumably, and he wanted to tell whomever it was to stop, leave him alone, he wasn’t ready to wake up yet. But he was locked inside of himself, and no rational reason could be found to try and push his mind to work any faster than it was.

The journey took hours, endless swaying and discomfort, for a moment he might have been sick. Then careful movements that were like lightning bolts in his rag-doll body. He felt cold, very cold; couldn’t feel the ends of his hands or feet, wanted warmth and comfort- and blankets- he couldn’t open his eyes to see but he didn’t question the cover when it came, couldn’t move himself from lying useless on his back.

 

When Thomas woke he remembered nothing, only lying in the bath and then magically appearing in pyjamas in his bed.

 

For a moment he panicked- _shite I’m late Mr Carson’s goin’ to kill me-_ but pain shot up his arm and he curled onto his side, remembering what he’d done. Someone must have found him, then. Someone had stopped him. A wash of relief-  _I’m still alive thank God I’m alive an’ I can think this now_ \- everything seemed manageable. But it was mixed with a bitter sort of disappointment. Nothing had changed. He was still alone. He was still jobless and homeless and rotten to the core.

 

Thomas opened his eyes and took stock. _I never thought I’d see my room again_. Noticed the tight bandages around his wrists. He had done it, then. Or tried too.

 

Baxter was sitting on the same chair Jimmy once had, watching his face anxiously.

            “Mr Barrow?”

            “I’m awake.” He didn’t move, looked back at his wrists, couldn’t face her. “Did you...?”

            “We found you just in time. What were you thinking, doing something like that?”

            Thomas swallowed. “I don’t... I don’t know. I wasn’t. Or...” he muttered, “I was tryin’ not to.”

            Baxter looked at him for a long moment. “You’re tired. You need to rest- I’ll fetch Doctor Clarkson now you’re awake- I’ll be right back- don’t...”

            “’m not goin’ anywhere. Can hardly sit up.” Reassuring her he wasn’t going to try and kill himself again in the next thirty seconds was not a pleasant sensation.

 

Thomas held himself together, firmly biting his lip until the doctor came in.

            “Mr Barrow- you’re awake. Good. That’s good. You’ve lost a lot of blood, Mr Barrow, and I’ve given you eleven stitches on either side.” He came and stood by the bed.

            “I’m afraid you’re going to be feeling weak for the next few days, and I insist that you do not try to leave your bed for at least the next three.” He glanced at Baxter. “And remain under supervision until further notice.”

            Thomas nodded.

            “I’ve instructed Miss Baxter on how to change your dressings, which should be every evening and morning for the next two days, and afterwards only during the day. I’ll return to remove the stitches in a week. Unfortunately, wounds of this kind are likely to leave scars, but for now the important factor is that you survived.”

            Thomas nodded again.

            “Mr Barrow... might I ask _why_ you attempted this act? It seems strange, for a man of your character... dealing with physical alliments  may be what I’m trained in, but I highly recommend talking about what went wrong for you to endeavour to do this, if you hope to recover fully.”

            Thomas fiddled with his sleeve. “I jus’ thought... well, I thought it’d be easier. Wouldn’t have anythin’ to worry about any more- I... don’t know _why_ , exactly. It jus’ seemed like the only option.”

            “Suicide is never the easy way out. I’ll prescribe you some laudanum in the mean time… You won’t try this again, left to your own devices?”

            “No.” Thomas shook his head. “I can see things a little differently now... think I’d like to try feelin’ better, instead.”

            “Good. Well, I’ll inform Mr Carson of everything I told you- you’ll be glad to hear no one apart from Andrew, Baxter, he and Mrs Hughes are aware- the rest won’t be informed.”

            “Right.” Thomas nodded, a prickly feeling in his shoulders growing at the thought of everyone knowing his business. What he’d failed to do.

            “Persevere, Mr Barrow.” Doctor Clarkson put his hat on. “Life can never be as bad as you think. You need some time, and a change in perspective. Miss Baxter.” He nodded to her and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

            “How did you find me?” Thomas kept his eyes on the closed door. “I mean, how did you know I...”

            “Something Mr Molesley said.” Baxter dragged the chair closer to the bed and sat in it. “I just... _knew_ something was wrong- I ran back here as soon as I could- praying you hadn’t done anything silly... Andrew and I broke the door down and... found you. With Mrs Hughes’ help we attended your wounds, undressed you,” Thomas squirmed, “and put you to bed.”

            “Suppose the family know too, an’ all.” He picked at his sleeve and Baxter put her hand over his.

            “ _Why_ did you do it, Mr Barrow? I know you- you’ve never been defeated in your life. I wish you’d spoken up if you were so unhappy.”

            “Who would have listened, ey?” Thomas scoffed. “Nobody cares about me or what happens to me- Mr Carson was throwing me out like unwanted rubbish- an’ leavin’ here after all I’ve been through, I...” his voice cracked and he broke off, fighting the tears furiously as he glared at his lap. “I felt like I were all on me own, an’ I didn’t want to worry about m’self anymore. That’s _why_.” He scrubbed his eye with the corner of the sleeve and shrugged his shoulders when Baxter squeezed his hand. She bent forward and put her arm around him, putting his head on her shoulder.

            “Now you stop thinking like this. There are plenty of people here who care about you- you’re only alone when you want to be, Mr Barrow- and when I found you...” She put her hand to her mouth for a moment and took a breath, “I certainly would have mourned and missed you, and don’t you dare think otherwise. Anna was beside herself- Mrs Hughes- I’ve never seen her so worried, even Andy wouldn’t leave your bedside until Mr Carson insisted he served dinner- and that took quite some convincing.” Thomas pulled away and smiled weakly at her, tugging his sleeves down.

            Baxter cleared her throat. “Now- you mustn’t be ashamed of yourself- you are going to focus on recovering and that means no more of these melancholy thoughts.”

            “Thank you.” Thomas half-smiled. “Thank you for rescuin’ me. Thank you for stayin’ here with me. I didn’t think anyone would. I suppose I was wrong.” He cleared his throat. “Would you telephone my sister, tell her to rip up the letter I sent when it gets there, let her know I’m alright?”

            “Of course I will.” She smiled at him and Thomas shifted to sit up, wincing as his arms took the strain and the wounds were pulled tight. He wondered what they’d look like. If he’d ever be able to pretend it had never happened.

            “How did you convince Mr Carson to let you stay?” He swallowed as he thought of the stern disapproval coming his way when Cason came to dress him down. If he’d even bother speaking to him.

            “Well he thought it best, under the circumstances, and Anna said she’d take care of her Ladyship for the time being- both her and Lady Mary insisted that someone stay with you, and said they could easily take care of themselves until you were feeling more stable…. Even the family care about your wellbeing, Mr Barrow.”

            “Although who knows why- I’ve been nasty to all of them- even you, an’ you stuck around. Why’d you bother with little old me?”

            “Because we can all see that you were only prickly to defend yourself. And we can see who you are underneath it all- you’re kinder than you think.” She squeezed his hand again and turned as the door opened.

            “Is he awake- Mr Barrow!”

            Thomas withdrew his hand and squared his shoulders as Andy walked into the room. Andy’s eyes dropped awkwardly to Thomas’ wrists. He seemed a little lost for words for a moment, but quickly recovered, pulling a smile to his face.

            “I’m relieved you’re alright, Mr Barrow. It’s good to see you awake.” He put his hands on his hips and looked at Thomas like his appearance alive and well was a miracle. Perhaps it was.

            “Well that’s one way to put it. I suppose I’m in one piece.”

            “I’ll leave you to it.” Baxter stood to go but Andy gestured her back to her seat,

            “I can’t stay long, Mr Carson’s expectin’ me- I just wanted to check on him. You’ll be alright now, won’t you Mr Barrow?” He looked Thomas over warily.

            “’Course I will- you know me, Andy, I can get m’self out of anythin’.”

            “Good. I’m glad to hear it.” He paused, glanced at Baxter and back. “I hope this hasn’t... got anything to do with how I treated you- before. Because it has I’m sorry, Mr Barrow- truly. I was out of line an’ when you’ve been so kind to me-”

            “I know you didn’t mean anythin’ by it. You did what any man would have- an’ y’were kinder about it than most would've been.”

            “Well, I... you keep getting better, Mr Barrow.” He nodded. “I’d better be off- Mr Carson’s waiting. Rest well, Mr Barrow. Miss Baxter.” He nodded and left the room.

            “You’ve missed luncheon- Anna will be up soon to bring you some dinner.” Baxter watched Thomas’ face carefully. “You should try and eat if you can, get your strength back.”

            Thomas nodded, already feeling tiredness pulling from the back of his head. At least it made the pain in his arms a little duller.

           “Mr Barrow? … Mr Barrow?”

 

He must have dozed off; when he woke up Anna was placing a tray on the bedside table beside him. He weakly opened his eyes and tried a smile.

            “Would you like some water?” Anna smiled warmly back. Thomas nodded and Anna fetched him some, he tugged his sleeve down when he caught Anna discretely trying to look.

            “Well you’ve gotten a little colour back in your cheeks, so that’s something. Eat, and I’m sure you’ll feel a little more yourself.” She sat on the chair next to him- _ah, it's her stag watch, then_.

            “Well the point was to _not_ feel m’self.” He muttered and Anna’s expression blanched. He quickly shrugged, “Sorry. Probably shouldn’t joke about it just yet.”

            “You gave us all a terrible fright. When Miss Baxter told me I… well, I don’t know what I thought. I don’t know what I would have done if it’d been worse than it was.”

            “I know I know. Bloody selfish of me, wasn’t it?” Thomas took his tray and forced some bread into his mouth.

            “I didn’t say that. Only… You mustn’t do anything like this, ever again- I was so worried...”

            Thomas glanced up at her, chewing slowly. “’M Sorry.” He finished his mouthful. “I didn’t mean t’scare you.”

            “I know you didn’t.” She sighed. “Thomas. I can’t help feeling awful that you thought you were so alone. I should have made more of an effort- we’re all for you now, though, and we’re going to help you get through this.”

            “Well, thank you. That means a lot to me.” Thomas nodded slowly, still not quite sure how that was supposed to make him feel better.

            “I know Mr Carson’s having words with his Lordship- you aren’t going to be abandoned, we take care of our own.” _Eventually_. She paused a moment. “When I… well.” She fiddled with the hands in her lap and looked away. “When I had something bad happen to me- I felt- I felt so awful I- I didn’t know what to do… so I can understand that you felt you…”

            “You had Mr Bates to help cheer you up though, didn’t you? I haven’t got anythin’ like that.” Thomas frowned.

            “He didn’t know. I didn’t tell him, y’see. For many reasons but- carrying it around, all that sadness and anger- it made me feel so helpless- so when I finally _could_ talk to Mr Bates- I felt so much better- like a weight had been lifted- and it didn’t all go away, just like that. I still felt sick to my stomach and there were days…” she took a breath and met his eyes. “Days that were difficult. But _talking_ about it- finding friends to keep me on my feet, that’s what made me stronger. You’re already stronger than me, Thomas. You’ve been managing on your own for so long, isn’t it time you started talking?”

            “Who wants to hear it? I’ve gotten used to secrets. Difficult to let go of 'em.” Thomas sighed and looked back at his hands, picking at his sleeve again. He became aware that his hair was probably a mess and ran a hand through it.

         “Well I for one- and I know Miss Baxter feels the same- want to hear everything you want to say. No matter how much you think it’ll shock us or make us uncomfortable… you can say anything to your friends.” She waited until Thomas met her eye and smiled. “I’d better get going- Mr Bates will want to get going soon- Miss Baxter will be right up.”

         “I’ll think about what you’ve said.” He nodded as she stood to go.

         “Please do. And if you need anything, just let us know. And try to get better.” She paused by the door. “Don’t dwell on past mistakes- focus on what’s ahead, make a plan- once you’ve put your mind to something I’m sure you’ll achieve it.”

 

Thomas was left with a funny melancholy sensation. He’d felt a little strength seep back while Anna was in the room- but that must have been the food. He quickly ate the rest of his meal, and put his tray back on the side, as there was a smart knock on the door.

         “Come in.” He smiled, expecting Baxter, but froze where he sat when Mr Carson walked into the room. After a beat, Mr Carson shut the door behind him, and Thomas struggled to sit up on the bed.

         “Mr Carson- I wasn’t- uh- expectin’ you… I…”

         “Please- make yourself comfortable.” Carson held up a hand and stood a few steps into the room, looking Thomas up and down. Tension seeped from his shoulders as he took a breath.

         “You look well.” He concluded. “A little pale, perhaps, but otherwise unharmed… I’m glad.”

         Thomas stared.

         Carson cleared his throat. “Mr Barrow I’ve been meaning to speak with you, but I have not, as yet, had time. I want to express my deepest regrets for what has happened to you. I made a mistake.”

         Thomas blinked. “I… I don’t understand your meanin’, Mr Carson.”

         “You are under my care and I failed you. I should have been more aware of your feelings, and in my own stubbornness or dare I admit it- _pride_ , I wrongly assumed you had none. I want to apologize for my part in all this, and assure you, you will be allowed to stay on indefinitely until you have found a secure place where you can work happily.”

         Thomas sat. He’d thought he was tired of apologies and sympathy, but he had nothing to say to _that._

         “Thank you, Mr Carson. I’m sorry for any trouble I may have caused.”

         “Oh that doesn’t matter now, and I don’t want it to worry you.” He gestured with his hand. “The family is entirely sympathetic. We all accept some measure of responsibility for what happened, and we all would very much like to see your happy recovery.”

         “I… I seem to have brought this all down on m’self, Mr Carson. I know I haven’t been easy, an’ I’ve done and said things and I’ve…” he cleared his throat. “I didn’t expect you all to help me. Not after all I’ve put you all through. So I… I suppose I lost my bearings, a bit. An’ I think I’ll be tryin’ other ways from now on. I don’t… I don’t know what I was thinkin’.” _I know exactly what I was thinkin’- some extra time still can’t solve all my problems- and if it took me nearly bleedin’ out in a bathtub for you lot to show you cared… well, I wonder how long it’ll last._ Thomas shook off the thoughts in his head, and tried not to listen to himself, for once.

         “Good. I am glad to hear it. Mrs Hughes was very upset to think what could have happened. I hope you know that. There are people who see the goodness in everyone. It is my failing that I do not.” He cleared his throat of the sentiment. “At any rate, the Doctor will keep me well informed, and you are welcome to come back to work as soon as you are recovered, though of course you must take all the time you need.”

         _Not like you’re short of anythin’ while I’m not there._

A voice sounded in the hall “Mr Carson?”

         He turned his head as the door was knocked on. “Ah, Mrs Hughes, I was just talking to Mr Barrow.”

         “Oh.” She poked her head through the door. “Well don’t mind me, I’ll leave you be.” _Apparently it’s visitor’s hour_. “I thought I’d poke my head in before everyone went up, but I’ll come back later.”

         “No, no. I believe I’ve said all I need to. Mr Barrow, is there anything you wish to add?”

         Thomas swallowed his pride. “Only my thanks, Mr Carson. I appreciate your care and delicacy in this matter- an’… an allowin’ me to stay on until I make other arrangements.” If he had to spend another fifteen minutes thanking Mrs Hughes he might be sick, but all this fussing, from Mr Carson of all people, was starting to make him squirm. He waited until Mr Carson left before he looked up again.

 

Mrs Hughes was standing, staring at Thomas like she’d seen a ghost. “Oh Thomas, let me look at you.” She marched to the bedside and inspected his forehead, his cheeks and his overall appearance. He probably looked a little tired, a little dazed and a little ruffled but he was alive, and was recovered enough to arch a snarky eyebrow at her.

         “Thank goodness for that, you look much like yourself- when we found you, you were as white as a sheet- I never want to see you looking anything less than healthy ever again.” She put her hand to Thomas’ cheek and shook her head. “I should shake you for being so silly- and rattling my nerves to pieces into the bargain.”

         “I didn’t mean to.” Thomas said quietly, as Mrs Hughes sat on the side of the bed, moving her hand to squeeze Thomas’ one. He felt a little self-conscious without his glove on, but Mrs Hughes didn’t bat an eyelid.

         “I know you didn’t, pet, but you gave us all a nasty shock to think of if the worst had happened. I’d never have forgiven myself. You know you can always come and talk to me- I hope I’ve proven that you can tell me _anything_ by now haven’t I?”

         “I know, Mrs Hughes, but I…” He was emotionally worn out. “There are some things y’just, _can’t_ say, and I didn’t know what I was doin’ or what I meant to do until it happened.”

         “And _that’s_ what that little talk was about this morning- oh you are a silly thing, Thomas. And you’re not going to be left alone until I’m sure you’re not going to hurt yourself again.” She gently placed her hand over his wrist, looking directly at the bandages and tenderly checking them. Thomas fidgeted and looked away.

         “‘M not goin’ to. I’m through with all that, I think. An’ Mr Carson says I can stay on until I’m better- so I think-” he swallowed, “I think I got stuck in a certain way of thinkin’- an’ after Jimmy left there was no one to talk to so I jus’… got stuck in my own head. But I won’t let it happen again.”

         “You’d better not. I’d like to go to sleep at night without being sick with worry over you for once, young man.” She squeezed his hand when Thomas started to look guilty. “I don’t begrudge you a second of it, Thomas- it’s a mother’s care I feel for you, and it comes with a mother’s worry… I should have said something to Mr Carson sooner- I meant to, but I didn’t know just how harsh he was seeming to you- you’ve always been the expert here at shrugging things off. I shouldn’t have underestimated how unwanted it was making you feel.”

         “That’s alright. I forgot I had feelings m’self for a while.”

         Mrs Hughes looked at him sternly for a long moment. “No more of that talk- when we both know you’re more sensitive than the rest when it comes down to it- and there’s no shame in that, either. There’s not a person in this house that has ill wishes for you, and we’re all going to be taking care of you from now on.”

         _I don’t need any pity_. He heard the thought, clear as a bell, and tried to push it away. Maybe it wasn’t pity. Maybe it was truly care, and people were just bad at expressing it.

         “Mr Carson has told the other’s you’ve got influenza- so there’s no need to feel embarrassed when you’re well again. What you tried to do was a foolish thing, but you’re a brave man for trying to deal with it all on your own.”

        Thomas cleared his throat. “I think I should rest, Mrs Hughes. I’m quite tired, an’ it’s been a long day.”

         “Of course you should. I’ll leave you to it. If you need anything in the night I’ve told Mr Carson he’s to get it to you.”

         _Not likely_.

 

Thomas lay in bed, but he couldn’t sleep. He’d spent the day dozing, but he was too exhausted to move to get a book, even. After an hour or so he managed to drag himself to the chamber pot and back, but after that his arms ached like he’d tried to lift a mountain. He eventually drifted off, trying to push back the sight of blood in water and shiny silver blades and the bliss he’d felt right before he’d fallen unconscious. He let himself cry, to release some of the tensions the day had thrown on him. He wasn’t very successful in cheering up, but in entertaining the thoughts that came he was quite certain he wouldn’t try it again. He was glad to be alive. Now he just had to find a reason to be.


	2. Not So Forgotten Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings same as last ep- but things are getting better, I promise!

The next day brought his next visitor.

It was early afternoon, so everyone else was rushed off their feet, and none of the women would be allowed up to the men’s corridor for a ‘quick chat’ when there was work to be done; not even with a man who posed as much threat to their honor as a ham sandwich. So Thomas sat, forcing his mind to a book, enjoying the time alone.

        

         “Mr Barrow!” An excited blond tottered into the bedroom, holding an orange.

         “Hello Master George, what are you doin’ up here?”

         “We came to tell you to feel better!” He scampered to the side of the bed.

         “And who’s ‘we’ then?” Thomas ruffled George’s hair.

         “Good afternoon, Barrow.” Mary came in behind her son, standing with her hands on his shoulders.

         “Lady Mary.” Thomas shifted himself up the bed, trying to sit more upright.

         “George, why don’t you show Barrow what you’ve brought?”

         “I brought this for you.” The small boy held out the orange and Thomas took it with a small smile. “To make you feel better.”

         “Well thank you, Master George. Important to get your vitamins, ey?” He glanced up at Mary.

         “What’s a ‘vitamin’?” George turned to his mother.

         Thomas smiled and Mary ran a hand over her son’s golden hair.

         “George why don’t you run down to the kitchen, I’m sure Mrs Patmore can find a treat for you if you ask.” The boy looked reluctant to leave so Mary ushered him out of the door firmly, shutting it behind her. Thomas twitched in his sheets.

         “Barrow, I was terribly sorry to hear about what happened.” Her cool façade was off and the sliver of humanity she had poked through.

         “Thank you m’lady.” If Thomas had to hear the words one more time he might scream. He forced himself to look up and smile.

         “I don’t understand _why_ , though. I mean- I know papa and Carson have been wringing you out, but I’d always thought you were stronger, somehow…. You’ve lost your pride, and that’s been holding you together all this time. I should know- I’m the same, I… well- it’s not the same- not at all, really, but..." She took a breath to collect her thoughts. "When I tried to listen only to myself, I made everything worse, and I didn’t mind at the time, but… it’s hard. Leaning to care about others. It takes a while to get used to feeling guilty.”

         Thomas nodded slowly. “I think I’m on my way to gettin’ used to it. Not sure I have a choice.”

         “No you undoubtedly don’t- you can’t possibly try this ever again- George would be quite lost without you… I’ll talk to papa- this has hit him hard too, you know- and make sure you can stay here.”

         “Thank you, m’lady. That’s very _kind_ , but I’m not sure it’s possible. I don’t want to be a burden to anyone, an’ their sympathy won’t last if I try to live off it.”

         Mary pursed her lips. “Well at least consider it. They can’t force you out now.” She fidgeted and looked up, instantly the very picture of a graceful, held-together woman made of stone. “You know I think it’s a shame I haven’t made an effort with you before. I think we would have made good friends, if I’d let us.”

         “I don’t think Carson would have approved. An’ I’m sure Lord Grantham wouldn’t’ve been keen, given what happened with Lady Sybil.” He flinched at the memory- but there was a common grief they both felt.

         “Well, I hardly think there's the same risk with you.” She stifled a smile for a moment. “Never the less. We’d make a good team if you did stay. When papa and Carson move on and we fill their shoes...”

         “An excellent team, m’lady. But I suppose that might not be a good thing for the rest of the world.” Thomas smiled shyly and Mary mirrored it, inclining her head.

         “Quite so. Well. I suppose I’d better let you rest. I do wish you well, Barrow, whatever happens. And I hope you do feel better.”

         “Much better, m’lady, especially now I’ve got this.” The gestured with the orange and sunk his thumb into it to commence peeling. “Thank master George again for me.”

         “Of course.” She tapped the door lightly as she passed through and Thomas was left to himself at last.

 

Not that the alone time did much good- he spend most of it dragging himself to the bathroom and back, with only his pride to hold him up- avoiding itching his bandages and fighting dark thoughts that crept through his mind like thieves. Anna and Baxter were with him almost constantly until he got a little short and insisted he could manage himself for a few hours without another mental collapse.

 

He was safe, for the time being; he’d return to work in a few days- he was stronger already, could get himself out of bed and go for walks by the third day, though no one was keen on letting him wander off alone. With each following day that passed he showed some improvement.

         When the bandages finally came off and the stitches out Thomas got to see the result of his handiwork. He wondered how they could ever fade; angry red and brown stripes unevenly making their way up his arms, a little dark bruising rising either side of them.

         Doctor Clarkson wasn’t unkind when he checked his wounds, but he didn’t exactly look him in the eye, either. They were ugly marks- Thomas started tugging at his sleeves through habit to keep them hidden. A permanent reminder of his failings.

 

            “I don’t bloody _care_ what time it is- where is he?!” A familiar voice thundered down the halls and- _Jimmy_ burst through the door wearing the same red tie he’d left in.

            “Thomas- Thomas you’re alright-”

            “James you _cannot_ come waltzing up here any time you feel like- might I remind you this is a respected, functioning household-”

            “It’s alright, Mr Carson.” Thomas held up his hand to calm the man as he stormed in behind Jimmy. “Jus’ give us a minute, won’t you- I’m sure James means no trouble an’ he’s probably travelled a long way to see me- I-”

            “Sent this bloody letter!” Jimmy lofted it up like a smoking gun and Thomas quickly interrupted before Jimmy could make things worse,

            “I’m alright, Mr Carson, really- I jus’- I need to tell him what’s what, show I’m alright.”

            Carson straightened his jacket and squared his shoulders, glaring first at Thomas, then James. “You can have five minutes. No shouting, _no_ swearing. If there’s any trouble you will be out of here in an instant, is that understood?”

            “Yes.” Jimmy growled and waited until Carson left, slamming the door behind him when Carson left it open, and glaring at Thomas’ exposed wrist. Thomas snatched it back and tugged at the sleeve.

            “I’ve spent nearly all my money phonin’ here- Carson told me you had influenza but I know _that’s_ rubbish. Why did you send this?” Jimmy threw the letter at Thomas’ lap and Thomas flinched.

            “Ah- I was in a bit of a… er- tight spot an’ I… I didn’t mean to worry you…”

            “Let me see.” Jimmy unfolded his arms and marched to the bed, holding out his hand.

            “See what?” Thomas withdrew his hands to his lap.

            “You know bloody well what- your arms- let me see them.”

            “No. Jimmy- no- look, don’t worry about it- it’s all fine now an’- I don’t want you to.” Thomas fiddled with the cuff of his sleeve. “You know what you’re goin’ to see- that’s enough. I wish I hadn't written you, but I s’ppose you deserved to know-”

            “ _Deserved to_ \- I’m your best bloody friend, Thomas- you should have bloody told me what was goin’ on- now let me make sure you’re alright!”

            Thomas looked away for a long moment, clenching his jaw. Without looking back he hiked his sleeves up and bared his arms.

            “ _Christ_.” Jimmy knelt next to the bed and took hold of Thomas’ wrists, staring at them. “Why?” He asked quietly, snapping his head up and glaring until Thomas looked back. “Why the bloody hell did you do that? You’re an idiot.” He dropped Thomas’ arms and raked a hand through his hair, getting back to his feet.

            “I know. I know I am.”

            “ _Why_? Thomas. You could have bloody written me if somethin’ had happened- could have bloody _asked_ for my help- _that_ -” he gestured to Thomas’ wrists as Thomas tugged his sleeves down again. “That was bloody stupid and you’re a bloody idiot for doin’ that when you shouldn’t have. You’re not like the rest of them-” he waved in the direction of the door.

            “I know I’m not.”

            “Killin’ yourself is not what you’re worth- you’re better than that an’ I’m bloody _furious_ you didn’t tell me. What if you’d actually done it?”

            “Well I thought as we hardly speak anymore- not that I blame you, for it- I...”

            Jimmy glared at the chair in the corner, considering taking out his anger on it.

            “You should have told me. I thought you didn’t want to speak to me anymore, that you thought we should jus’ drop it because there wasn’t any point in forcing us to remember- an’ I agreed with that- but _this_? I… I can’t. I can’t bloody talk about it anymore. You talk.” His voice dropped to his usual casual tone. He helped himself to Thomas’ cigarettes and sat on the chair, his feet propped up on the bed.

            Thomas fidgeted, embarrassed he’d let _Jimmy_ of all people catch him at his lowest. “Well I jus’… after you left I…” He looked up but Jimmy wasn’t going to help him fill the silence. “I realized I’d been missin’ havin’ a friend. All my life- an’ I noticed that I didn’t much like how it felt not to have one.” He glanced up and Jimmy’s usual casual mask had been discarded. Jimmy stubbed out his smoke and leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees, giving Thomas his full attention,

            “An’ I…” Thomas wetted his lips. “They were goin’ to sack me- throw me out on my ear after all this time- an’ I couldn’t find work an’ I didn’t know what else to do. I felt like maybe if I disappeared the rest would too.”

            “But y’weren’t disappearin’. You were runnin’ away from your problems. That’s not like you, Thomas.”

            “I know. Haven’t felt like m’self in a while now. Pass us the packet.” He held out his hand, and Jimmy passed him a cigarette, then lit it for him.

            There was a subject on the tip of Thomas’ tongue. One he could only talk to Jimmy about, if anyone. But Jimmy was also the worst person to try the conversation with. Jimmy waited for him to speak.

            “I… I went up to London. A few months ago. There was this program… to help me- fix what’s wrong with me. I … well, I got sick, I came back and it were all rubbish anyway- Baxter helped me, she took me to the doctor an’ my fever an’ that went away but… I think that’s how it started.”

            Jimmy looked at him for a long moment. “To fix how you are… you mean… bein’ ‘your sort’, an’ that?”

            Thomas nodded, looking at his lap.

            “But there’s nothin’ wrong with you- not like that, Thomas- I bloody- I knew it. You can’t-  _look_ at me- you can’t think like that. I mean- maybe I used to joke about men like you like the rest of 'em- and it made me feel _uncomfortable_ to think about it... but _you_ changed that- I don’t find it funny anymore- I swear- an’ everyone knows y’can’t help it- you were born l'that way'- so you can’t have… nothin’ _happened_ , did it?” Jimmy cleared his throat, determined to follow through on the conversation. "With another bloke...?"

            “No- If anythin' I… felt like I’d wronged you, bein' your friend after... I wanted to be able to have friends without feelin’ guilty.”

            “You’re a bloody fool. There’s nothin’ wrong w'you. You don’t need a bloody doctor to tell you otherwise- you’ve never listened to what anyone thinks, why would you let them make you think like that now?” Perhaps guilt lit the fuse of Jimmy’s anger this time; he jogged his knee as he spoke.

            “An’ I don’t want to hear you sayin’ it any more... for what it's worth- I never wanted to tell Carson or anyone- that were all Alfred an’ O’Brien. Don’t ever think people like that are worth your worryin’. They're not.”

            Thomas nodded and smiled shyly. “’Course not. Thank you, Jimmy. That- I’m glad to hear it said out loud. You’re the only one I could talk to about it… I’m glad you’re back.” He took a long drag and reached for the ashtray as Jimmy passed it to him.

            “That’s why I’m here. Don’t go bein’ a stranger again- I do miss havin’ you about.” Thomas was about to ask him where he’d been, but Jimmy cut him off, somehow managing to stave off his self-interest. “Why were they goin’ to sack you? You’ve not done anythin’ else stupid have you?”

            “No. Only workin’ in a position Lord Grantham doesn’t think is ‘modern’ enough.” He scoffed. “They needed to cut back on staff- after everythin’ I’ve done it’s hardly surprising my neck was the first on the block.”

            Jimmy snorted. “What _shite_. And Carson- oh, of course he did. It’s not bloody fair. You’re perfectly good at what you do. Shouldn’t have to get along nicely and be sickeningly sweet if you can actually do your job.” He folded his arms and exhaled slowly, turning back to look at Thomas after a moment. “What are you goin’ to do then? Cos you can’t get better until you deal with why you felt like bein’ an idiot in the first place.”

            Thomas hesitated. “I don’t know. I’ve been lookin’ for other jobs... but no one needs a butler these days and-”

            “Bugger being a butler, Thomas.” Jimmy winced at his phrasing and hurried on, “and hang service- you’re a smart man, y’can do anythin’. Why get hung up on a job that’s never given you what you deserve?”

            “Well it got me on my feet for the first time. It’s all I’ve ever done, apart from workin’ at a press- but I’m no good for factory work- y’need trainin’, and I couldn’t bear it… an’ can you imagine me in a shop?”

            “If it’s your own I could.” Jimmy arched an eyebrow. “Get your own place- sellin’ something you want it to- what about clocks- y’were always harpin’ on about them when I was here.”

            “Well...” This conversation was happening very quickly. Odd, Thomas had never considered doing anything else, not once, not ever, once he’d started. It hadn’t been an option before. _Is it now?_ “I couldn’t work with clocks. Not like my dad- but… I s’ppose… I suppose I’d have to think about it.”

            “Well I’d certainly recommend it. It’s a dyin’ world, Thomas- there won’t be a handful of houses that have any footmen at all in a few years- I’d get out and set yourself up before everyone’s scroungin’ for any jobs on the ground.”

            _But where would I get the money?_ Still, the cogs in Thomas’ brain had started turning again, _purpose_ giving him something to cling onto.

         “What have you been up to, then? Y’weren’t very specific in your letters.”

            “Well I-”

            “James I have been more than reasonable.” Mr Carson appeared and spoiled the moment, as he always would. “If you wish to visit Mr Barrow please talk to either Mrs Hughes or myself and we shall arrange an appropriate meeting time for you. Mr Barrow needs his rest, as you can imagine, and your butting in when you please will not be tolerated.”

            “He looks alright to me.” Jimmy shrugged and stood, resuming his usual nonchalant smirk. “Anyway, I’ll be stayin’ in town until he’s back on his feet, so I’ll come around again tomorrow.”

            “Mr Barrow is working tomorrow, James, you may visit him on his half day- or in the evening, if you _must_.” Carson looked like he might burst a blood vessel.

            “Well that works for me, Mr Carson.” He stared down the older man with a bravery he would not have possessed two years earlier. He glanced back at Thomas and nodded his goodbye before brushing past.

            He paused and added “Oh, congratulations, by the way. I’d almost forgotten, what with you still calling her ‘Mrs Hughes’.”

            Thomas clamped down firmly around a snigger.

            “Thank you, James.” said Mr Carson through gritted teeth.


	3. The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So here we are, at the very end... must have been almost a year since I started writing this... I hope you've enjoyed Thomas' journey as much as I have...

So Thomas was put back to work, though his sister had arranged to visit him the second she’d heard from Baxter, only appearing two days after Jimmy, throwing his arms around Thomas and squeezing like she was never letting go.

            “Tom! Oh my goodness, please never scare me like that again.”

            Everyone _stared_. Thomas hugged her back and cleared his throat until she let him go.

            “I think we should find somewhere more private to talk.” In his livery Thomas looked back to his normal self, though his vanity fretted he’d aged since he last clapped eyes on his sister.

 

He led her into the boot room and shut the door, wary of eavesdroppers.

            “Oh you look well- yes you look very well- I imagined you on your death bed- Tom you mustn’t ever do anythin’ like this again. Oh.” She looked him up and down again. “That’s what they make y’wear then? It’s very fetchin’. You look very ‘andsome. An’ look how you’ve grown!”

            She’d not done so badly herself; she’d grown a little, though she’d never gotten her posture quite so, and was the spitting image of her mother, as expected. Blue eyes that matched Thomas’.

            “Yes. I suppose I have.”

            He filled her in, apologized- the same conversation he’d had over and over, and she could tell he was sick of it but she needed to hear it, too.

            “Anyway, Jimmy says I ought to get outta service for good.”

            “An’ I agree- look at you- speakin’ proper, an’ bein' grown... you can’t go startin’ again from the bottom.” she sighed and glanced sideways at him, “We both know this is a dyin’ business- there’s not goin’ to be work for you a few years from now, why not do somethin’ by yourself- you’ve always wanted to- an’ dad’s shop-”

            “No.” Thomas’ gaze became sharp. “Not that. If I’m doin’ somethin’, I’m goin’ to do it for myself.” He sighed. “Maybe I’ll start up somethin’ on me own- I haven’t figured out what or how, but… I don’t know, yet. I need time to think. An’ I’ve been given it so I’d like to use it.”

            “Of course, Tom. Any help I can give you… I can talk to Luke, we’ve got enough to get by, more than- green grocer is the one thing people are never goin’ to be able to get rid of." She chuckled. "We’ll help you-” she caught Thomas’ look before he expressed it, “An’ you can pay us back when you’re set. If that’s what you want.”

            “Thank you.” He’d been saying it a lot, recently, but this time he meant it. The possibility of his own life, making his own way- sure, there wasn't a ladder to climb, but he could make his own ladder. Perhaps he ought to have considered sooner that he wasn’t better than everyone else, just because he wore a uniform and worked in a house he would never live in.

 

It was hard. Thomas spent a few weeks at the Abbey, filled out a few job applications, just to keep Carson happy, but the back of his mind demanded his attention, and whatever his mind settled on, it got. So he quit service: for the time being, only in his mind. And he fought all of the black days as they came, and after a while of playing Jimmy, Baxter, Anna, and his sister’s voices in his head he went a whole day without feeling hopeless for no reason. Then two days before another dark thought. Then a week. Then he stopped counting days.

            The wounds faded- scabs started to heal over into harsh pink smears that would turn white after a few years. But he saw them as badges of honor now, just like the more easily masked wound on his hand. He’d survived another war. When he repeated it he started to believe it. _I made a mistake. We all do. I recovered. I have to keep movin’ forward._

The day he told Carson he was quitting was a day he would’ve liked to have had filmed- Carson spluttered and caught himself before he injured Thomas into relapse, and took a moment to collect himself. Then he smiled tightly, and wished Mr Barrow the best, eyes narrowing as Thomas walked through the door with lightness in his chest. Thomas had gotten a plan. He didn’t know if it would work but he’d found a building, paid the rent (just, with some help from his sister, and even Jimmy when he insisted). He was all ready to begin again. Forty something wasn’t too late for all that, surely.

 

“Well this is it, then. My last day. Will you miss me?”

            Baxter shook her head. “You’re moving into the city, Mr Barrow, not across the sea- we’ll be seeing you regularly. But, yes, I will miss being able to keep an eye on you myself every day.”

            “I told you, I’m fine. No need to worry. Jimmy’s offered a helping hand while I look for employees- it’s the next big thing, so I’m told.”

            “Finally your own man. Your own boss. It feels we’re all looking for the lives we first abandoned, one way or another. I’m very proud of you, Mr Barrow.”

Thomas offered his hand, and she leant up and kissed him on the cheek. A surprised but pleased smile appeared on Thomas’ face. He tipped his hat and turned to say his more formal goodbyes inside.

            “Suppose most of you won’t be sorry to see me go.” He half-joked.

            “Well I certainly will!” Mrs Hughes tutted and pushed to stand beside him, “Now give me a kiss” she proffered her cheek, Thomas mumbled a small “oh”, and bent and pressed a dutiful peck. Mr Caron’s face perfectly followed his thoughts,

_Give him a what- for heaven’s sake- oh, fine._

            For a moment, the boy Thomas had been appeared, kissing his mother goodbye as he left for school. Then he bid a heartfelt goodbye to George and Sibby, promising to visit often, and in turn George promised to visit whenever he was ‘working’ in town (quite taken with growing up and doing _something_ , that one). There was also a personal promise to Lady Mary not to be a stranger. He even nodded his head to Bates on his way out: acknowledgement of a rivalry well done, and Bates in turn inclined his head.

 

What he’d done was… well…

 

He’d bought a bar. Or started one. Just a small place, nothing fancy, but it kept the men of the town out of trouble in the evenings, and the women occupied in the day. Ripon had always been too small for him, so he’d moved to the city and he’d found he wasn’t as alone as he’d thought he was. He made friends quickly, now he wasn’t constantly at everyone’s heels and had time to fight his demons in his free time- now he actually had free time. Here, even his snarky side was considered somehow charming, part of his ‘character’. 

            After he’d hired a man who’d winked at him when he caught him staring, a certain… _type_ started to visit his place often. Nothing scandalous, nothing to arouse the rest of the punter’s suspicions, but if two of them were holding hands under the table and sharing lingering glances, Thomas wasn’t going to say anything. The men that minded drank elsewhere. It worked out quite nicely.

And this time he _did_ stay in contact. Between Baxter, Anna, and Andy popping in every time they were in town, Jimmy running over whenever he could (and _scowling_ at Thomas when every head in the bar turned as he walked in- Thomas bet he secretly didn’t mind), and his sister’s telephone calls, he almost forgot what it felt like when he’d been lonely.

 

Funny, how befriending someone could be far more effective than threatening them- Thomas was up to date on all the gossip without even trying-

           Apparently Lady Edith had run off with her editor, after one too many comments about being a ‘spinster’. Only Thomas could figure out why _that_ had happened. And then there were rumours of Mary and Henry’s divorce (Thomas could just _picture_ Lord Grantham’s face), and Branson leaving to start his own car business not all that far from Thomas himself, and Andy and Daisy shacking up at the farm (although that had been heartily encouraged, everyone letting out a long-held sigh of relief). Mrs Patmore was getting cosy to Mr Mason too, so it seemed. Mrs Hughes had had an enormous row with Mr Carson about his ‘exact expectations of married life’ and apparently Carson was back to his old self- not the self-important pompous arse he had been, but the dignified, fair man everyone knew he was- he’d just needed Mrs Hughes to keep him in check, after all. But Thomas never did find out what was going on between Baxter and Molesley. Miss Baxter would get very flustered if he brought it up.

 

All in all, everyone seemed to be getting their just desserts. But Thomas was only at the beginning of whatever this chapter was- a properly fresh, unbelievably new, and exciting start.

             He’d found his independence, and by leaving Downton, had felt a satisfying end to service and all that had gone with it. Yes, perhaps this was it, from now on. The work was monotonous, but he could talk to whom he liked, for as long as he liked, smoke and drink as much as he liked, and didn’t have to worry about being fired or making ends meet (apparently upper-class inverts enjoyed the taboo-edge of drinking in the rough part of town, somewhere they were safe)-  _Or what’s the word they’re using for us now…?_

            Anyway, Thomas felt like he’d gotten a fresh beginning, and he’d finally shaken off the ghosts that had clung to his ankles. Yes, this certainly was the end.

 

            “Hello, can I get- oh. _Hello_.”

            Thomas looked up into a pair of brilliant brown eyes, framed by curled golden hair. His name was Gabriel, apparently.

           

Or perhaps it was another beginning.


	4. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't resist giving you a little hint at Thomas' proper ending. You've been a delight- hope you enjoyed...

Thomas sat in his armchair, in his flat upstairs from the bar. He’d stopped working there long ago, but the cheeky lad he’d sold it to had agreed to pay the rent in return for a cheap lease.

Anyhow the bar was a thriving place, now; an underground den of the kind Thomas wished he still had energy for. But now he was old: his eyes ached when he squinted at the paper, he got out of breath walking across the room, and his lungs had all but given up, except to make him cough or wheeze once every few minutes. He really ought to see a doctor about that, but for now-

            “Bug _ger_ me!” Thomas peered extra hard to make sure he’d read the article correctly.

            “I thought we’d given up tryin’ at that sort of thing.” Gabriel shuffled over and kissed Thomas’ cheek. “Mornin’ darlin'.”

            “Morning.” He didn’t watch as Gabriel got up to make tea, focused on the paper. Thomas couldn’t stand long enough to prepare it himself, these days- _seventy seven years old- urgh, well. At least I’ve lasted longer than my father ever did_.

            “Well, you’ll never guess what- we’re in a modern world, we are.”

            “1967, I haven’t forgotten.” Came the reply. “What’s the latest?” Gabriel nodded to the paper.

            “They’ve only gone and made us legal.”

            A pause.

            “What?” Gabriel moved with the speed of a much younger man and peered over Thomas’ shoulder. “But they can’t have… well. I s’ppose we all saw it coming… didn’t think I’d live to see the day.”

            “But we did. Fat lot of good it does us now- but at least I can’t be _arrested_ for holdin’ your hand on my death bed.”

            “Don’t talk like that, you’re still a virile young man, in my eyes.”

            Thomas’ hair was entirely silver now. “Just as handsome as the first day you met me?”

            “Even more so.” He placed tea beside Thomas’ hand and kissed his forehead. “We should celebrate.”

            Thomas paused to wheeze and cough into a handkerchief, still managing to arch an eyebrow. “I don’t think they let men our age into pubs- in case we break a hip.”

            “Finally legal and we can hardly enjoy it..." Gabriel tutted. "We just can’t win.”

            “No, we cannot.” Thomas turned the page.

            “It won’t change anythin’, you know. The law. People will still think we’re repulsive, and condemn us to hell- the bobbies aren’t goin’ to let up on us, they’ll jus’ word it differently on their reports.”

            “That may be.” Thomas sighed. “But it’s a start.”


End file.
